


Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness

by mearchuimhne



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Jewish Character, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Crossdressing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme, I promise, Jacob will fuck you up, Legilimency, Magic, Multi, Newt in a dress, Newt is a precious who needs to be protected, Queenie knows all your secrets, early 20th C bigotry, sort of AU to the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mearchuimhne/pseuds/mearchuimhne
Summary: Based on this prompt from the Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme:Queenie comes home to catch Newt playing with her clothes. Rather than being annoyed, Queenie would never turn down a chance to play dress-up, and is more than happy to help Newt pick out a lipstick to go with that particular dress.Jacob doesn't even blink when Queenie introduces him to her new friend, Miss Scamander, and is more than happy to invite her along on the date he and Queenie had planned. He treats her like a perfect gentleman; coat over puddles and all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Queenie and Jacob are my perfect Jewish kugels who are too good for this world. It is also now my own personal headcanon that Queenie loves her some Yiddish pet names, apparently.
> 
> The title doesn't have much to do with this story and is subject to change. It just seemed right for the moment.

Queenie is making her last rounds with tea and coffee when she feels hears someone's thoughts screaming _guilt_ loud enough that she nearly drops the tray. Guilt is followed quickly by a garbled mess of deep and intense self-hate but there's also such _longing._

She deposits the tray on a spare desk and braces herself. Whatever it is that’s causing these feelings, it's coming from her home; and Tina’s out on assignment, and Jacob’s at his bakery, so it has to be Newt.

She absently spells the tray to return to its place in the breakroom for the Permits division and runs to grab her coat and hat from the cloakroom. She barely remembers to greet the clerk at the punchout counter before she’s walking briskly away from MACUSA’s headquarters. As soon as she's in a darkened doorway just outside of the wards which keep people from apparating directly into the Woolworth Building, she disappears.

The apartment she and Tina share is exactly as she expects it to be - undisturbed by an intruder or even by one of Newt’s creatures. Queenie steps out of her shoes and is very careful it to make a sound as she walks through the apartment. She’s not sure why Newt feels so badly, but his intruding thoughts are barely more clear now than they were at the office. It's at least now fairly obvious that they're directed at her - if unintentionally. Newt is touching something of hers, which is causing him to think of her and how angry she's going to be when she finds out but the clothes are so beautiful and if only he could look…

Queenie tips her wand at her bedroom door and it slides open silently. She creeps forward and peers in. She has to choke back a gasp.

Newt is standing barefoot in front of her mirror - the full length one with the gilded silver frame that is the most expensive thing her parents ever owned - and he's wearing her favorite evening gown. The silver lamé fabric rustles gently when he shifts. He's been here for a little while - her walking suit and one of her day dresses are laying out on the bed.

Due to their height difference her gown should be too short for Newt, but he’s so thin and lacking in any sort of curves whatsoever that the hem still hits just a tad above his shins. The self-fabric belt, embellished with beads and tiny sequins, lies just so over his hips. He's even wearing one of her peach pink silk slips under it - she can see it through the silver lace at his chest.

Queenie watches, licking her lips which have gone dry in spite of herself, as he lifts a hand to the lace, tracing up the edge of the plunged neckline to his shoulder and then moves to his nape. His hand rests nervously there. His other flutters carefully over the fabric at his hip, bunching the skirt and then letting it go. Again comes guilt, and now Queenie understands.

“Newt?”

Newt spins around like someone has threatened his suitcase, tense and wild. His eyes are wide and fear is written into every line of his body.

“Qu-Queenie,” Newt stammers. He backs away from the mirror, towards Queenie’s vanity on the other side of the room. His hands clutch the lamé skirt. “I am- I am so sorry.” _so stupid!_ “I didn't mean to-” _shouldn't see!_ “that is I just wanted to-” _Be beautiful._

“Honey, you _are_ beautiful,” Queenie says with a smile. She steps in and pulls the door shut behind her. “You shoulda told me you were gonna get dolled up tonight, I'd have come home early. Give me a second to get dressed - oh, we can sorta match! It’ll be like we planned it. Do you have shoes?”

“W-what?”

“Shoes, silly girl,” Queenie laughs, reaching into her closet for her second favorite evening gown, “you can't go wearing that out with your work boots. Do you need help with your makeup?”

“Go out?” Newt’s voice is faint and he looks hopelessly confused.

“Well sure! You’re already dressed. Come out tonight. I bet you Jacob wouldn’t mind at all.”

Queenie feels his rush of both trepidation and something that she thinks might be joy but which is quickly quashed as she pulls out her dark green satin. After a moment’s pause she taps the fabric with her wand so that the beading turns to silver to match the gown Newt is wearing. His beading changes to match her green. Queenie glances at him as she does this.

Newt still looks absolutely gobsmacked, his fingers white-knuckled where they cling to her vanity, as though waiting for…

“Honey, I would never!”

His eyes flick up in surprise and then fall away. Queenie leaves the gown floating, with the hem rearranging itself to be a cascade from her knees to her shins instead of the previous flat circle hem, and goes to Newt. Queenie keeps her hands to herself as she approaches, but when they're standing only a few inches apart and Newt hasn't run off or fainted she reaches for him. She twines their fingers together, feeling how his tremble.

“You will never be hurt here. Never. May my hands fall off if I ever think such a thing. That's not how it should be.”

“But I- I mean it's not natural and I know that but sometimes I can't help myself and I just have to-”

He falls silent when Queenie brings their tangled fingers to her lips and kisses his knuckles one by one. When she looks up he's looking at her for the first time since she walked into the bedroom.

“Not natural nothin’. Honey, it’s clothes and you're wearing them that's all. The only thing that matters is that you feel good in ‘em.”

The dress finishes altering itself. Queenie doesn't want to move too far from Newt so she brings it over with a crook of her want wrist and only untangles their hands when she has to put her arm in the armhole. As soon as the dress is on she gives a little twirl and grins at Newt.

“How do I look?”

_Amazing._ The word flits across her mind as Newt’s gaze flickers up and down from her face to her feet. She's almost as barefoot as he is in just her stockings and that makes him smile a little.

“Don't you need shoes, too?” he asks.

Queenie laughs and motions for Newt to sit. He does, bringing his ankles together and letting his feet rest at a delicate angle. It's a sitting position that any lady would assume and it makes Queenie smile. Silver shoes set themselves at Newt’s feet. Queenie plucks hers out of the air.

“Here, fix those for your feet. Just make sure I can reverse it, ‘kay, honey? I have clean stockings around here somewhere...”

She leaves Newt to charm her shoes to fit and dives into her drawer of under things, looking for her two pairs of silk stockings - the ones she only uses on special occasions. The garter belts are much more utilitarian; they've served her well for almost 10 years.

Queenie brandishes one hand of stockings at Newt. “You wear these when you dress, honey?”

Newt eyes the way they shimmer skeptically, “Not usually that nice. Is that silk?”

“Yep. Best I got for a night out.”

“Oh I can't, Queenie, I'll ruin them.”

“Nonsense. You can’t go out without stockings, and I’m not giving you the cheap ones on date night.”

Newt swallows thickly, but he finally reaches out to take the stockings. He plays with them for several seconds before his hand skitters out to grab for his wand. He casts a quick spell and the garter belt slips up and under the dress to attach itself low around his waist. A few more careful motions of his wand and the stockings ease onto his legs, clipping them to the garter belt, seams perfectly straight. Queenie watches the whole thing from under her lashes as she does the same. Newt studiously avoids looking at her. She can hear that he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop and she wants to do nothing more than hug him tightly. She hold off only because that’s not what he needs.

“Go on, honey, sit at the vanity,” she says softly, making the final adjustments to her stockings.

Newt’s eyes flick up and land somewhere around her chin, then move up to meet her gaze. His mouth twists just a little - she thinks he might say something but whatever he sees in her face makes him stop. He goes to her vanity and sits.

Their eyes find each other in the glass.

Queenie flicks her wand. The sconces - there is one on either side of the half-mirror - light. Newt blinks and looks down quickly. Queenie’s mother-of-pearl and silver vanity set, which belonged to her grandmother, gleams in the candlelight and will sparkle little showers of gold when a jar is opened. (It was the first charm she’d cast on her own after graduation.) She watches Newt reach to touch the comb and then the hair brush and then quickly pull his hands into his lap.

She wonders how many times he was caught at his mother’s table.

Queenie comes up behind Newt and trails her fingers over the shoulder straps, not quite touching him. “This color suits you honey.”

“Th- thanks,” Newt whispers. His lips quirk into that sort of helpless smile he gives when he's feeling lost.

She smiles and strokes her fingers through his wild curls. “Now. How do you like your hair?”

“Um…” he blinks at himself in the mirror. “Just a… um…like yours but, you know-” he motions to the side of his head, close to his ears, “less?”

Queenie continues stroking his hair. It grow longer under her fingertips. The pomade jar lifts and opens with that familiar sparkle shower. Newt quirks a grin. Queenie spreads the pomade through Newts hair and then makes little circles with her fingers. Newt’s hair follow the motions into tight curls. She lets it sit and reaches for her eyelash curler.

“Turn to me and look up.”

Newt turns his face and stares into her eyes. Queenie takes extraordinary care when she curls his lashes. Her box of false lashes opens and a pair floats up. Newt lets his lids fall partially shut and she affixes the lashes. She uses mascara to blend the real lashes to the fakes.

Her eyeshadow pots open and dance by Newt’s eyes, allowing them a good look. Newt points to a deep green. A silver brush sweeps it across his eyelids, cleans itself, then smudges a dark gray at the corners of his eyes.

Queenie owns 5 lipsticks, which Tina would hound her about if she knew. The lipsticks uncap themselves and the colored wax curls up out of the tube. She picks a plum color for Newt and watches her blush brush tap at his cheeks, dusting them with pale pink. Newt applies the lipstick with the ease of practice, missing not a corner of his lips. He sticks his finger into his mouth, leaving a ring of color that he wipes away with a tissue.

Her powder puff taps against his face to help ensure the makeup stays on.

“I'll do my makeup and we'll finish your hair,” Queenie says.

Newt obligingly moves to her bed and watches her from under his lashes. He already had unfairly long eyelashes but now they're smudges of black against his skin. Queenie takes the same care with her make up as she did with Newt - choosing silver and black eyeshadow and a bright red lipstick she just got her hands - and sets a jeweled hair piece onto her gold curls.

When she's ready she turns back to Newt and is gratified to see a blush in his ears. She leans a knee on the bed just to the side of Newt’s lap and brushes her fingers gently through his curls. Once they are set but fluffed to her satisfaction she pulls the bob towards the back of his head and pins a glittering hair pin into his hair, keeping his curls from falling out of place.

“There.” She touches his chin and tips his head up. He moves willingly, though his eyes don't meet hers just yet. They're somewhere on her lips, which she curls up slowly. “Perfect.” Queenie moves off the bed and takes both Newt’s hands in hers. “Now. How do I introduce you, honey?”

“Huh?” Newt is halfway to standing but her question stops him. He blinks. Queenie bites back a giggle and pulls him the rest of the way up. “Oh. Right, yes. It’s Nell.” He shrugs. “It was close enough to remember easily.”

“Nell,” Queenie nods. She reaches for her jewelry box and selects a silver lariat necklace to wear. She grins as she settles it around her neck. “We're gonna have such fun honey. Jacob will love you.”

“Are you sure? I mean I don't want to impose tonight, I know it's been a while since you've seen each other and I'd hate to be a lump between you.”

Queenie squeezes his hands. “ _Neshomeleh_ , hush. You think I say what I don't mean?”

“Fair point,” Newt says after a beat, smiling sheepishly. “Um, but, don't I need- you know- for the-” he motions at his neck.

A long, thin scarf of silver lamé flies out of the closet. “I keep the accessories in their own box,” she says. The scarf ties a loose knot around Newt’s neck and fluffs up just so until his long neck is covered. “I’d offer pearls, except I don't have any.”

A clock chimes. “Jacob's here. C’mon, honey.”


	2. Chapter 2

“J-Jacob’s,” Newt murmurs. His hands bunch up the lamé and release it nervously. “Oh, yes. Right.”

Queenie pulls out a small clutch for Newt to use. The purse holds itself open for the tube of deep berry lipstick and a small compact mirror, charmed to act as a quick test for unwanted substances in drinks, to place themselves inside. In her own purse goes her red lipstick, her powder compact, and a small flask of firewhiskey in case they’re going out to a no-maj dry joint. She flicks her wand for her pink coat and it holds itself open while she slides her arms into it. Another flick brings an evening cape over to Newt. She watches it settle around his shoulders.

“Ready, honey?”

Newt closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, his stance changes - in fact his whole physicality seems different when he moves to join her. Queenie hooks their arms and giggles.

“I can’t wait for Jacob to see you- he’ll be bowled over.”

Jacob is waiting outside the building, at the bottom of the stoop. He is facing away from the door, but Queenie can see him in his best suit. They're going dancing.

“Jacob,” Queenie calls.

Jacob turns around. He sees Newt but dismisses the extra presence for a moment as his eyes take in Queenie with appreciation and amazement- she hears him wonder how he ever could be this lucky. Only when he's taken his fill of looking at her does he really turn to look at Newt. She sees Newt go red under Jacob’s scrutiny, and sees on Jacob’s face the exact second he realizes who he’s looking at.

“Jacob, this is Nell Scamander,” she says before Jacob can even ask, leading Newt down the stairs to the street. “She's in town for a bit.”

“At your service,” Newt murmurs. His voice is a higher pitch than usual. He's nearly scarlet.

Jacob doffs his hat and offers his biggest smile: He’s besotted. “It's my privilege to make your acquaintance. If I may say, you look lovely tonight, Miss Scamander,” he’s already wondering if it’s okay to invite Newt along when he looks at Queenie questioningly. Queenie nods. “Tell me, do you have anywhere to be tonight? It would be our pleasure if you would join us.”

Newt looks down and fiddles with his clutch. “If you're sure you wouldn't mind. I... I don't have any particular engagement and I don't know my way around all that well.”

“I insist,” Jacob says. He holds both elbows out to his sides. Queenie takes one and after a moment of silent contemplation Newt takes the other. “How do you fancy dancing Miss Scamander? I know a place having a party for the new year.”

“Oh,” Queenie says, delighted, “Is it New Year already?”

“It’s only September,” Newt tosses them both a look, “It is certainly not yet the new year - not even for Asian muggles. Uh. No-maj’s.”

“It is for the Jewish ones,” Jacob says, “Rosh Hashana is the Jewish New Year. Some of the less orthodox are taking advantage of the night and we don’t have much use for prohibition. But we don’t bother New York and so far New York doesn’t bother us.”

It's not a far walk to the lower east side’s Webster Hall, where Jacob has it in mind for them to go dancing. The banner and signs out front welcome patrons to a Happy New Years 5687. Newt’s eyes go round at the number, but nobody else seems surprised so he tries not to stare too obviously. Queenie murmurs something about the Jewish calendar being moon-based that Newt hears but doesn’t really compute.

Jacob apparently knows the bodyguard at the door and they exchange a few pleasantries while he pays their cover and they wait for their markers to allow them to enter the venue. Despite being one of the more subtle ones when it comes to physically ogling, Queenie _hears_ the bodyguard eye her and Newt up and down, trying to decide if he has a preference. She gives him a knowing smile that startles him into wondering if he’d said anything out loud and laughs inwardly. She really shouldn’t do that, but sometimes she just can’t help herself.

“Ladies,” Jacob says. He puts one hand on the small of Queenie’s back and the other on Newt’s (Newt’s pleasure at this is practically audible- it _is_ audible to Queenie) and he ushers them through the doors.

Once inside he collects the outerwear. He hands the coats and Newt’s cape over to the young men working in the coat room, leaving a couple coins in a tip bucket.

“I haven’t been here in ages,” Queenie confides in Newt as they move into the ballroom.

The grand ballroom of Webster Hall still looks as though it was built yesterday for the most part - only scuff marks on the wood floor from shoes, tables and chairs give away its nearly 40 year history. There are already people starting to line the three sided balcony. The ballroom is very dimly lit with the exception of the stage; they’ve lit the massive chandelier to only half its potential light output but the spotlights on the bright red stage curtains are nearly enough to make Queenie’s eyes hurt.

There are lines of small tables around the perimeter of the grand ballroom and a few of them haven’t yet been claimed. It’s still fairly quiet - the hall is only just starting to fill take in dancers and customers looking for a wet night out. Jacob brings them to a table near to the stage and pulls a chair for Queenie. Once he’s settled her he gives Newt a flirtatious wink which makes Newt blush to the tips of his ears. He takes Newt’s hand as Newt sits and kisses the back of it.

“What can I bring you to drink?”

“Are they keeping dry out here?” asks Queenie.

“For appearances sake,” Jacob says, nodding. “If we go to the back rooms it’s all wet, but I thought we might dance a bit first. The band starts up at 8 so it’s not too long from now.”

“I’ll have a coca-cola, then.”

“The same, please,” Newt says, though he’s not entirely sure what a coca-cola tastes like and he’d rather have tea. But tea is probably not on their menu.

Jacob disappears to get their drinks from the bar. Queenie leans her elbows on the table, placing her chin in her hands, and smiles at Newt.

“Told ya he’d love ya.”

Newt squirms a little in his seat. He’s pleased but also terribly nervous. His hands restlessly arrange and rearrange the trio of tiny candles on their little table. The silver dress catches what little light there is and flashes as he moves. His eyes are made paler than usual, almost ethereal, under his heavy lashes and dark eyeshadow. Queenie puts one hand over his, stilling them.

“Honey...”

“I don’t think-” Newt starts. He stops. Swallows. He’s trying not to think about all the many ways everything could go wrong, but Queenie can almost see details of the scenarios he’s coming up with - they all end with his humiliation, if what she’s feeling is anything to go by. “Well he’s being absolutely lovely about... all this,” Newt finally says, “Letting me crash your date notwithstanding, he really is a great friend and he’s remarkable in how he adapts to the abnormal, of course-”

“ _Nell_ ,” Queenie says firmly.

Newt stops talking and blinks up at her. Queenie squeezes Newt’s hand. “You are as normal as you need to be, Nell. Jacob doesn’t care if you’re in your shirtsleeves or a towel, trust me,” she quirks a conspiratorial smile at Newt. “You’re not crashing anything.”

Newt smiles at her, but there’s something behind it that Queenie doesn’t like. He’s doing a very good job of keeping her from finding out what it is. She knows it’s to do with the fear/harm she pulled out of him right after she’d found him in her bedroom but Queenie would rather have this particular story out of Newt by his own volition and in a safer place. He’s the sort of person who won’t allow himself to heal from something buried so deep until the wounds are reopened.

She smiles at him, encouraging. “No more frowns, ‘kay? It’s the New Year!”

“Drinks for the ladies,” Jacob announces, returning with three glasses carefully balanced in his hands. There’s a moment where it looks like they’re all going to spill as he sets them on the table, but he prevails. He places a glass in front of Queenie and Newt and lifts his own. “Ladies,” he says, “To your most pleasurable company.”

Queenie smiles and lifts her glass to his. They both look at Newt, who looks confused. He look at his glass, then at Queenie and Jacob in turn, then at the glasses between them, then back at his. His eyes go wide.

“Oh! I see- it’s a toast,” He lifts his glass to meet theirs. “Sorry, sorry. Cheers, I mean... Cheers. Yes... um, sorry.”

Queenie laughs, “You’re so British.”

“Well, yes, I should think so,” Newt says.

“I think it’s kinda charmin’,” Jacob says, with that little smile he uses when he’s remembering something fondly. He sips from his glass and chuckles. “Not just anyone can apologize to an inanimate object without looking silly after all, but Brits seem to have that down pretty well.”

“That was one time!” Newt protests, “And I thought it was moving.”

Queenie hides a laugh in her coke.

Newt is play-pouting. “You’re awful. _Pickett_ has better manners than the two of you.”

He runs his fingertips through the collecting condensation on his glass. Queenie doesn’t miss how Jacob follows the run of Newt’s fingers with his eyes. Jacob has dark eyes on any old day, but tonight they’re... deeper. More intense than they usually are. His surface thoughts are focused on the way Newt’s long fingers move.

The ballroom is getting louder as the crowd swells. They’ll calm a little once the music starts, but for the moment people are calling for drinks, catching up with friends they haven’t seen for a while, laughing as they discuss the exciting new band they’ll be seeing and how they haven’t been to dance in _just forever_.

“Do you dance, Nell?” Jacob asks, “Or do they not teach that at your Hogwash?”

“Hog _warts_ ,” Newt says. “Worse. Than. Pickett.” He rolls his eyes and brazenly uses magic to fling a piece of ice at Jacob, certain that no one is watching them. Queenie is too delighted that Newt is feeling playful again to worry about it and Jacob gets that awed look on his face that happens whenever he sees magic, but especially for mundane things done with it.

“So do they teach you? To dance?” She asks. “They only show us boring stuff at Ilvermorny. Formal waltzes and the like.”

“It's the same at Hogwarts,” Newt says and waves his hand. “Tradition, you know. I was never much good at it so I didn't get a lot of practice at school.” (Newt’s thoughts tell another story- standing alone by the dining tables, hoping anyone will ask him, or at least catch his eye so he has an excuse to ask them, but no one does.) “My mother demanded I learn as a child anyway. And my brother loves dancing- he's got quite good. My mother only taught me the waltz, but my brother taught me his favorites. I can probably hold my own at a foxtrot.”

Queenie tilts her head. “Forwards or backwards?”

“Both,” Newt says with a little shrug. “Mother taught me to lead but my brother never learned to follow.”

She grins. “Then you can lead me when the band starts.”

“Oh I-”

Queenie reaches for Newt’s chin and catches it in her fingers. She tips it to face her. Newt stops talking immediately. “ _Neshomeleh._ ”

“Yes, yes,” Newt lowers his lashes, “we'll dance as soon as there's a tempo I'm comfortable with, my lady.”

Queenie preens. Newt’s voice may have been dry, but there's a current of real deference in his thoughts. He does hold her in esteem enough that his ‘my lady’ is simply cheeky, because of course she's American and can't have a title. Rather than release him completely she cups his cheek and strokes her thumb carefully under his eye. Newt doesn't flinch.

She turns to Jacob. “You hear that? I'm a lady. It comes from a Brit so it must be true.”

“You've always been a lady,” Jacob grins, “but I have Nell’s second dance, or I'm going to say you're too selfish to be a lady.”

Queenie gives a dramatic sigh and drops her hand reluctantly from Newt’s cheek. “You see how he treats me?”

Newt’s eyes smile with that real amusement that can be so hard to pull from him. The lights go out all at once and a drum roll sounds, drawing their attention to the stage. The spotlights are circling the red curtains. The curtains start to pull back, revealing a band on stage, standing with their instruments, and from somewhere in the dark of backstage comes one the enthusiastic voice of someone who is undoubtedly used to announcing things.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! For your evening’s entertainment, please welcome the Hot Sardines!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Hot Sardines is actually a group you can catch playing in the current day (https://hotsardines.com/). They are awesome and I've had the great pleasure of dancing to them live several times.
> 
> 2\. Holiday: Rosh Hashana is mentioned as the night's entertainment here, because I am Jacob and Jacob is me and we are Jewish. And also if the wizarding world can have Christmas by golly they can have Rosh Hashana, too. Whether or not Webster Hall actually ever held a Rosh Hashana dance I can tell you is is probably 'not'.
> 
> 3\. Prohibition: The 18th A made illegal the "manufacture, sale and transportation". If you had a private stash pre-passing of the amendment? Still yours to drink as you pleased. And New York itself was never very invested in the law either - as far as I know most raids were trying to get at the mob connections rather than the actual alcohol.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 90% of this chapter is an excuse to write dancing. orz

The music that the Hot Sardines play is that newfangled American stuff that Theseus and his mother love and his father hates. Newt knows it mostly through his travels, heard in backroom meetings or through bar and club walls as he passes by. It's a very hot export, or so he's been told in Theseus’s letters. Newt’s mother tells him she finds the rhythms exciting; his father seems to think that indicates a lack of morals or strength of mind or something.

They sit through the first couple numbers. Jacob goes to get them another round of coca-cola. Newt tries to get a feel for the music, watching as others trickle onto the floor and start dancing. Their steps are familiar, just wild and much faster. There's a lot more arms than he's used to. Hopefully when a slower song comes up it'll be closer to what he's used to.

Jacob has just returned with their second round when the band breaks into the opening strains of a waltz that Newt’s mother taught him to dance to. ‘Love is Just a Little Bit of Heaven’ is as sentimental as they come, but at the very least it’s one that Newt isn’t going to make a fool of himself trying to dance to, and if he doesn’t dance with her now, Queenie will pick a dance that he will make a fool of himself over.

Newt stands abruptly and only belatedly looks at Queenie. Queenie is already starting to raise her hand so Newt can take it.

“I can dance this one,” Newt tells her anyway, mostly for Jacob's benefit.

“Go on then,” Jacob says with a smile.

He pulls Queenie up and backs her onto the dance floor. Once on the floor he wraps his right arm gently around her waist and takes her right hand in his left. She sets her free hand on his shoulder, then decides that it hardly matters and slides it along his skin to cup the back of his neck. Her fingers play with his scarf. They are pressed far closer than they strictly need to be. 

Queenie counts 3 other dancing couples of women and at least one couple of men, so they won't be singled out. The silver lamé of Newt’s gown bunches against her green satin and slides over her legs as he pushes her back and into the legwork required for a waltz. The waltz is not, has never been, her most proficient dance - she starts to look down at her feet to make sure they’re doing the right thing.

Newt tips her head back up with their joined hands. “Eyes on me,” he murmurs, “Trust me, it’s much easier when you’re not thinking about your feet- even with a new partner.”

It is not often that Newt encourages someone to look at him directly, let alone to keep his gaze. He quirks his lips in a tiny smile, which creeps into his eyes. In the light from the ballroom they look green like the new growth in the forest behind an old lodge in the Catskills her parents took her and Tina to one spring.

They maneuver around the dance floor at Newt’s pleasure, dodging other dancing couples so easily that Queenie forgets to think about what her legs and feet are doing. Newt’s body is firm against hers. They touch from chest to pelvis and Newt’s leg nudges between her thighs when he wants her to move right or left. He pauses them sometimes on a held note, or he'll do a short step back and forward, or he'll twirl her out and back in lazily in time to the music. She finds just a press of his hand at the small of her back in warning is enough to tell her what's coming.

A few times Queenie catches Jacob’s face from where he’s sitting at their table and each time he’s watching them like he’s never seen people dance before. And Newt hums along with the signer, low, like he is singing the words of the sweet song to Queenie.

When the song ends Newt dips her and holds her steady as the last notes fade away. His grip is deceptively strong for someone who is not only slender but goes out of his way to be make himself as small and un-threatening as possible most of the time. His scarf falls forward and drapes over her skin. Part of her wants to laugh when it happens, but the rest of her is caught up in the way he stares into her eyes.

Queenie- for the first time in years- flushes. She knows that she is smiling like a loon when Newt helps her upright again and starts to lead her back to their table. Jacob is laughing softly when they reach him. He has already made sure their chairs are pulled out for Newt and Queenie to fall into. They reach for their drinks simultaneously. After they’ve each taken a sip Queenie reaches out to fix Newt’s scarf, adjusting it on his neck.

She doesn’t miss the way he leans into her touch.

“You two were the center of attention out there,” Jacob says, waving his arms towards the floor enthusiastically. “You coulda been celebrities or something, everyone was watching like they were seeing... ” he waves his hands again, “Louise Brooks! Or someone like that!”

“Who?” Newt asks, even as Queenie giggles, “Flatterer.”

Jacob looks at Queenie with exaggerated surprise and jerks a thumb towards Newt, “This lack of culture a wizard thing, or a British thing?”

“Excuse you,” Newt draws himself sitting upright and straight backed, despite the smile that plays over his lips.

The playlists for any band are fairly predictable, so it’s not entirely surprising that Newt and Queenie have only just finished their second glasses of soft-drink when the first notes of a slower song begin to play. It's a moderate polka, not so fast that Newt won't be able to keep up even as a follow. He catches Jacob’s questioning eyebrow and nods. Jacob half stands and offers his hand to Newt with a smile. Newt takes it and follows Jacob to the floor.

Queenie grins as she waves them off.

She watches Jacob take Newt in his arms the way Newt held her. Newt is nearly a head taller than Jacob, but Jacob is a very good dancer (Queenie knows from experience) and neither of them look awkward. She wonders if Jacob’s hand on Newt’s back is giving him the same instructions that Newt’s hand on her back had given her. She supposes it must be - they’re dancing together like they’ve been dancing partners for years. Their feet are light, making tiny steps at nearly twice the speed of the music.

Queenie watches Newt’s shoulders ripple under the lace straps of his gown. His back is surprisingly well-muscled and it shows in how the light plays over his skin as he moves. She wonders how the rest of him is build. She knows that he’s worked with magical creatures for years, but she’s never had a reason to see him in anything except fully clothed, and he tends to wear loose-enough layers that hide his physique. At one point during the song Jacob gives Newt a particularly enthusiastic turnout that has the skirt of his dress flying up just enough for her to see one leg’s worth of stocking and the garter belt clips holding it up.

She finds that her hand is gripping her empty glass, but she can’t recall when she told her hand to do that. Then a ripple of someone else’s lust reaches Queenie. It’s strong enough that she looks around curiously to see who it’s coming from. There’s a young man with slicked back brown hair. His eyes are fixed on the dance floor, but she can’t tell who he’s looking at.

When the polka ends, rather than Jacob dipping him, Newt gives a very feminine curtsy, sliding one leg gracefully behind the other and bending his knees such that he drops straight down. (Queenie has never seen a princess but she decides Newt must be one.) Jacob bows over Newt’s hand and brings it to his lips, and Newt lifts his eyes to meet Jacob’s. Queenie can see the butterfly-light touch he leaves on Newt’s hand.

Jacob says something she can't hear, but she feels a rush of pleasure and happiness from Newt. _Beautiful._

Jacob cups Newt’s elbow to steady him as he stands upright; when they start back towards the table that hand moves into the small of Newt's back.

The band leaves the stage for a break and the phonograph music starts again. The hall is suddenly much quieter and it takes a bit of getting used to.

“Did you do much formal dancing?” Newt is asking when they're in Queenie’s hearing range.

“I guess you could say,” Jacob replies. He gives an expressive shrug. “Dancing was all that was available to us- easy to organize, doesn't need much more than a phonograph and a floor. A roof if it’s raining. You know how it is.”

“Yes. Well. However much dancing you did you're quite good,” Newt says. “Perhaps not as good as my mother but... ”

Jacob growls playfully. “Hey now, is it my fault if it wasn't part of my school’s curriculum?”

“Wasn't it?” Newt asks, wide-eyed innocence personified, “Well, no wonder America’s a bit off.”

Queenie and Jacob laugh. They don't see a gentleman approaching until he's practically standing on top of them. He coughs politely into his hand and gives a little bow when they look up. It’s the guy Queenie saw watching the dance floor. Newt quiets and stays very resolutely staring at the table. The man touches Newt’s bare shoulder with his fingertips, ostensibly to get his attention. Queenie just manages to keep herself from hexing the stranger when she sees the way Newt tenses.

“Pardon me,” says the man, in his smoothest voice. It’s a pleasant baritone and his face seems open enough. “If I may introduce myself? I’m Thomas Hammond. I’ve been watching you dance just now. I wondered whether you'd do me the favor of dancing with me when the band returns and accompanying me.”

To Queenie it doesn't sound much like a request. A glance at Jacob tells her he’s not very impressed, either.

“Oh I'm-” Newt starts. He stops and licks his lips nervously but otherwise keeps himself very still. His voice is thin and he still won't look up. “I thank you, Mr. Hammond. That’s very nice of you- that is, I'm very flattered you've asked. But no, I think I'd rather not. I'm quite happy with my partners.”

Queenie feels a thrill of pleasure run down her spine when Newt says ‘partners’, but she can't enjoy it because she doesn't like the way Thomas’s face changes. Something shutters and turns cold and stony behind his eyes. Something else very ugly glances across her thoughts.

“I really think you don’t mean that,” Hammond says.

“I rather think I do mean it,” Newt says softly, “I do thank you for the invitation. But I am with my friends tonight and I will only be dancing with them.”

Hammond’s hand is no longer touching but gripping Newt’s shoulder hard enough that Queenie can see marks starting to form on Newt’s skin. He bends down, looming over Newt from behind. Newt jerks as if to shrink away from Hammond but stops himself. It doesn’t stop him from grabbing Queenie’s hand, which she squeezes in what she hopes is a show of support. Hammond’s voice is low, and hard as steel. Queenie has to use both her legilimency and lean forward to try and figure out what he’s saying.

Newt’s accented thoughts are jumbled but she can feel his growing panic. Hammond’s thoughts center around demanding that Newt _will be with him, will be serviced, pathetic rent-boy_. She can only just make out a few words at a time as Hammond speaks against Newt’s ear. “Perha- didn't hear corre-? Asked very nice- will pay for... Don’t fool me... don’t have ‘partners’- a whore- women's cloth-”

Newt goes pale - Queenie can see the way his skin drains of color and robs him of the flush dancing had given his cheeks. Hammond’s thoughts are a blur of anger and lust. Jacob is sitting stiff in his chair, watching closely like he’s not sure if he should do something to get Hammond away from them or if it would offend Newt if he jumped in, or if he doesn’t care either way. His eyes glitter with rage.

“Please leave,” he whispers.

Hammond leans in even closer. His lips brush Newt’s ear and this time Queenie can’t hear at all but she gets a sudden impression of _police_ and _arrest_ and _can’t again- who knows how America works?- bad enough last time-_

“Jacob-” she starts.

“P-please,” Newt whispers again.

He’s keeping his eyes on the table, fists clenched in his lap. Queenie feels his desperation to get away, but also _no magic, can’t get in trouble, don’t make a scene,_ and it takes everything she has not to pull out her own wand, Statues of Secrecy be damned. She looks over at Jacob.

Jacob stands so abruptly that his chair bounces for several inches on the floor. “Get away from Nell.”

Hammond stands slowly and tightens his grip so that his fingernails are digging into Newt’s shoulder. “Excuse me?”

“I said get. Away,” Jacob bites out.

He leans forward and gets directly into Hammond’s face; having someone so suddenly in his space makes Hammond jerk away and the momentum causes his hand to fall from Newt’s shoulder. Queenie immediately scoots over and gathers Newt in a tight hug. They sit awkwardly, Queenie’s knees squished against Newt’s thigh and she’s bending forward with his arm pressed into her chest because Newt is so stiff in his seat. From over Jacob’s shoulder she sees several floor attendants from the ballroom staff heading for them.

Jacob pulls himself to his full height and crosses his arms, glowering darkly. “You aren’t wanted here. Your request for a dance was turned down, as is any woman’s right. You have been asked to leave, so you will leave. Now.”

“This is no wom-” Hammond starts.

Jacob punches Hammond in his square jaw. Hammond stumbles a few steps back, sputtering about ‘outrages’, but Jacob and Queenie ignore him - Jacob stands at Newt’s side as though trying to shield Newt from the rest of the ballroom and rubs the back of his neck. He is shaking.

“C-Can we go?” Newt whispers.

“Of course, honey,” Queenie says immediately, “Jacob?”

Jacob kisses the top of Newt’s head, “I’ll get our coats and meet you by the entrance. There’s a recessed door for a building that’s not finished just a few feet down.”

“Perfect,” Queenie says.

Jacob disappears. Queenie sits with Newt, stroking his cheek and breathing slowly and deeply. She is gratified when Newt matches her breathing. Once his shaking calms she nuzzles her nose against his temple.

“Let’s go home, _neshomeleh_ ,” Queenie murmurs, “Jacob has our coats. We’ll Apparate.”

Newt nods. She helps him stand from the chair and pulls him close, winding both her arms around his right arm. People are staring at them as they leave but Newt doesn’t seem to notice and Queenie can read more relief and pity than anything else. Jacob is already in his coat and hat when they meet him by the entrance, holding out Newt’s evening cape. He wraps Newt in it and then helps Queenie into her coat.

They leave the hall with Newt tucked between them. He is no longer shaking, but he is still pale and silent. At least it’s dark out. As soon as they’re hidden in the shadows, Queenie grabs Jacob’s hand and brings them back home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets worse. Then it gets better. Probably. I hope.

Jacob takes Newt into the bedroom as soon as they appear in the Goldstein’s apartment, which is still and quiet. Tina is still out, likely working late. (Even so long after her reinstatement as an Auror she works as though she feels like she has to catch up from her time at the Wand Registry desk.) Usually they try to get her home at a reasonable time, but tonight he finds himself absurdly grateful. He wants it to be him and Queenie who take care of Newt this time.

Jacob sits Newt down on Queenie’s bed, unties the evening cape and lets it fall from Newt’s shoulders, and then sits next to him, pressed together, Newt’s bare arm and elbows rubbing against Jacob’s suit. Newt stares at the floor and won't look up.

“Nell?”

Newt is silent. Jacob wonders if Newt wants to be alone and he shifts to get a better look at his friend. Newt’s hand moves with speed Jacob didn't think he had and grabs for Jacob's jacket, winding up in Jacob’s pocket. His knuckles are white. Jacob immediately gives up any thoughts of moving except to kick off his shoes. He wraps his arm around Newt’s waist and pulls him in close, holding him tightly.

“We’re home, my girl, you’re safe,” he promises.

Newt’s head falls to his shoulder. “I’m sorry I ruined tonight,” he whispers.

It takes Jacob a second to register that Newt has said anything, and once he does he pictures himself punching Hammond in the face several more times. It helps him stay calm.

“Nell, no,” he breathes. “You didn’t ruin anything. Some jerk who put his nose where it wasn’t asked for tried to ruin _your_ night; that’s what happened.”

Newt nods once, uncertainly, and lapses into silence again. Queenie comes in and out of view from the bedroom door and Jacob watches her for a while. She usually does her magic with delicate swishes and careful flourishes but tonight she's stabbing her wand as she goes. She _demands_ the lamps light, that anything strewn about puts itself back where it should be (the evening cape snaps away from the bed with enough force that the ties whip the back of Jacob’s neck), that the stove turn on and milk pour itself into a sauce pot and cocoa mix itself in. Her lips are pressed in a thin line while she watches the cocoa heat with one eye and undresses herself to change into her night slip and a robe at the same time.

Jacob can see anger and rage in every movement she makes and he knows she's making cocoa half as a way to calm herself so she doesn't frighten Newt anymore than he already is.

Queenie’s clothes pick themselves up and settle into their proper laundry basket for cleaning tomorrow. Her shoes put themselves away. She steps into her slippers, adds a pinch of cinnamon to the cocoa pot, and pours the cocoa into three mugs.

Jacob lets go of Newt’s waist and rubs his hand up and down Newt’s arm instead. Newt’s head is still pillowed on Jacob’s shoulder, but Jacob can see how Newt’s hands clench tight at the bed covers. He rubs his hand down Newt’s arm once more and then cups Newt’s hip. “Hey…” he starts softly, “Want to change into something less fancy?”

“Ah,” Newt glances over at Jacob and then down at the lamé pooled in his lap. He blinks as though he’s just realized he still wearing Queenie’s gown. “Oh. Yes, actually- that sounds- that would be- ” he says. He looks around as if expecting to find his clothes. “Um- could you-?”

“In the suitcase?” Jacob asks.

Newt nods. “By the cot there’s a chest, I keep my spare clothes in it.”

Jacob stands and smiles down at Newt. “I’ll check in on everyone and bring your night clothes.”

Queenie is levitating the three mugs of cocoa into the bedroom. She gives him a quick kiss when he passes her on his way to Newt’s suitcase. Queenie takes his place by Newt’s side. She presses a mug of cocoa into his hand and leaves another on the bedside table for Jacob. Newt clenches the mug in his hands but his face is calm when he lifts it to his lips. She registers him feeling the heat on his lips and tongue.

She sits with him in silence for several minutes, sipping at her cocoa, watching his face. Only once he feels steady in her head again does she reach out and brush her fingers over the still-red, though faded, marks on Newt’s shoulder left by Hammond’s nails. He flinches almost imperceptibly.

“Does it hurt, honey?” Queenie asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, no,” Newt says quickly, “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

“None of that was fine.”

“Well, I've heard worse, of course.” His thoughts turn back to Hammond and he’s remembering _threat_ but he forces a smile. “It didn't get quite as physical as it might, and nobody else had to get involved, so it’s really-”

“Nell,” she interrupts a grips his wrist. “My _shayner_ , please don't do that. Not here, not with us. That man was scary and awful to you and you’re allowed to be hurt and scared by it, and you’re allowed to show it.”

Newt smiles thinly and twirls the mug of cocoa in his hands. Queenie cups his cheek and brings his head slowly until she can see his eyes. He does so willingly enough and she breathes an internal sigh of relief that he isn’t trying to hide from her. She holds his gaze until Newt closes his eyes. Then she drops her hand from his cheek, letting it rest on his leg.

“I know he threatened you with something.”

Newt lifts the mug to his lips and takes a sip of his cocoa. Queenie doesn’t push, but she does hold her breath and try to will him into telling her.

“ _Soliciting_ ,” Newt mutters eventually.

His voice is bitter as it sounds out the word and Queenie knows exactly what sort of soliciting he means. She bites her lip to keep herself quiet and hold her simmering anger deep inside.

“He said he’d involve the authorities,” he continues. He swallows thickly. “That no matter how much of a blind eye they’d turn to alcohol, they’d not turn the same favor for a male prostitute- ” _whore boy_ echoes in Hammond’s voice “and he wanted me to go with him. Said he’d pay me well rather than turn me in if I was good.”

“Oh, Nell,” Queenie breathes.

“I didn’t know if- if muggle authorities were like- or worse- ”

“Your brother- ?”

“No- not- it wasn’t Theseus! It wasn’t his fault. He wanted to go dancing and knew I liked,” he lifts the lamé skirt in helpless illustration. “He’d never cared about it. Just knew I’d be an easy dance partner if he couldn’t find someone else.”

Queenie rests her head on Newt’s shoulder and closes her eyes. She can feel him tremble, but he doesn’t cry. She thinks maybe he’s cried himself out over it.

“I’d never- in public before,” Newt continues, “He tried to find a place that was, you know, _away_... but someone from his year was there. Recognized him. They only spoke for a minute; I don’t think Theseus liked him much at school. I guess he- he figured out- or maybe I gave it away, I don’t really remember. He was waiting at the end of the evening, with others. They wanted to express their displeasure with me for dragging my family’s name down with my perversion.”

The way he says it tells Queenie that he is repeating their words. She can feel phantom pain and humiliation as he recalls what came next. “Your brother?”

“Disagreed with their assessment once he found me,” Newt says, giggling suddenly. His laugh holds a hysterical note. He’s thinking of Theseus roaring hexes but there’s a fuzzy quality to the memory. “Muggle police were called- because of the fight. So the group accused me of _soliciting_ \- my own brother of selling me. They arrested us both. Theseus… he nearly got the rest of his department involved. Had to glamor me until we could leave.”

Queenie gets a bleak impression of cells like the ones at MACUSA headquarters, only they’re not kept clean or warm. She feels separation from the only friendly face and phantom blood drying on her skin. She touches a scar on Newt’s arm. It’s one he’s never spoken of, so she’s always known it wasn’t from one of his mishaps with a creature, but she’s also never asked. Newt nods.

“I wouldn’t let their medic treat me or go to a hospital once we were out. Just wanted to go home. They- when they were- they really hadn’t had a chance to get very serious about... The arm was the worst. Theseus patched me up, but healing spells aren’t one of his strong suits,” his lips quirk up, “I told him I’d rather he not remove the bones from my arm accidentally so he refrained.” He shrugs. “I haven’t been out since. Not like this.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Jacob’s voice says softly. He’s standing in the doorway with pajamas draped over his shoulders and he’s clearly been listening. “You were fabulous on the floor. A sight to behold, too.”

Newt flushes and busies himself drinking from his cocoa. “Th-thank you. How are-”

“Everyone in the case is fine and fed,” Jacob says, “so let’s get you comfortable.”

He comes in and takes a knee in front of Newt, grasping Newt’s left ankle gently. Newt holds his cocoa mug to his lips and watches with wide, shocked eyes as Jacob picks up Newt’s foot, rests it on Jacob’s upturned leg and undoes the buckle of his shoe. He sets the shoe aside and repeats the action for Newt’s right foot and Queenie sends the shoes back into the closet.

Impulsively Jacob leans forward and kisses Newt’s knee through his stockings. Newt inhales sharply. Jacob looks at Queenie, glancing meaningfully at Newt’s legs. His thoughts are on Newt’s stockings and taking them off. Queenie smiles and takes the hem of Newt’s gown between her fingertips but doesn’t move it.

“May I take your stockings off?”

“M-my- oh. Right, stockings. I mean if it’s no trouble. If I just, um, I’ll put the cocoa down- I can take them off if-”

“ _Sit_ , honey,” Queenie says firmly, “ _Stay_. Now. May I take your stockings off?”

Newt holds the mug of cocoa tightly. “... Y-yes. Thank you.”

Queenie pushes up Newt’s skirt enough to reveal the garter belt clips. She takes Jacob’s place in front of Newt and nudges his knees apart. Jacob sits on the bed and carefully removes Queenie’s hair comb from Newt’s hair, placing it on the bedside table and running his fingers through the curls. Queenie takes a clip from his right leg in her fingers and slides the plastic knob up, freeing the bit of stocking band.

“Tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable,” she murmurs, “Even a little.”

Newt nods shakily. He sips at his cocoa absently, just to give himself something to do with himself. Queenie frees the stocking band from the remaining three garter clips. Newt’s skin is warm and smooth. She could do this with magic, but she much prefers it this way.

She turns to the left set of garter clips and looks up from under her lashes to make sure Newt isn’t trying to force himself through something he’s uncomfortable with- he’s terrible at hiding when he doesn’t realize he’s being watched; it's like he keeps so much covered all the time that he doesn't even realize it's still there. His eyes are wide but his pupils have dilated some and though his thoughts are still hard for her to read she can feel no discomfort. She has both stocking bands free from the clips a moment later and carefully takes the left stocking band in her hands.

“Still okay?” she asks.

Newt swallows the mouthful of cocoa he’s just taken and clears his throat. “Yes.”

Queenie nods and begins to roll the stocking down his leg. She removes it from his foot and it flies off to the laundry. She strokes her hands up his right leg, enjoying how he shivers. She repeats the slow and careful movements of removing the stocking. Once both his legs are bare she looks up at him fully.

“How do you want to change?”

“Uh- well- I’ve never had-” _partners_ “you know- uh, well, it’s always just been me before.”

“Should we step out and let you alone?” Jacob asks softly.

“No!” Newt puts the empty mug down with movements just a shade frantic. “No, I’d rather- if you wouldn’t mind- please stay.”

“Oh, honey,” Queenie says, soothing, “It’s only friends know where this building is, but even so we won’t let you be alone unless that’s what you want, okay? Do you want me and Jacob to turn around?”

“No, no. That’s not necessary,” Newt says. He scratches the back of his neck and ducks his head. There’s something more sheepish to the movement than there is shy. “Do you think you could, um, help me get your dress off, though? I don’t have that much practice with evening wear.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for cuddles, because everything else was for hurt.

Queenie and Jacob glance at each other. Both try to hide smiles and both start laughing when they realize the other is doing so. Newt shifts his weight and his thoughts brush a petulant _please_ against Queenie’s mind. She takes a moment to appreciate the fact that he’s thinking at her.

“Okay, sure, honey,” she says, quashing her laughter, “Let’s get you out of that.”

She flicks her wand at Newt and the gown starts to slide up his body. Newt raises his arms so it can fly off, leaving him in the peach pink slip. Queenie takes the gown from the air and automatically checks the lace to see if it needs any repairs (it's not like she could afford a new gown, so this one has to last). Newt unhooks the garter belt from around his waist and drops it on the bed. Queenie and Jacob studiously don’t stare, but Newt doesn’t seem to be aware of their studied indifference.

“I couldn’t find a nightgown,” Jacob says, clearing his throat, motioning to the pajamas draped on his shoulder, “So I picked up these- did I miss it?”

“No, no. You didn’t,” Newt takes a breath, as though steeling himself, then he pulls the slip over his head in one swift movement, dropping it on the bed with the garter belt.

He crosses his arms over his chest as though to shield himself from their gaze. Jacob moves closer and does his best to look at Newt’s face, though the temptation to let his eyes roam over pale but scar-marked skin is great. (He does look down just long enough to note that Newt is wearing tap pants and licks his lips.)

“Here,” Jacob says, offering the pajamas.

Newt’s pale eyes stare at him. After a breath Newt forces himself to move his arms can reach for the pajamas, taking the pants.

“Thank you.” He slips into the pajama pants and ties the drawstring. “I don’t have one. A nightgown. It’s easier not to have one, or a wardrobe. So I don’t slip with, uh, with the wrong people. Traveling and all- you never know quite what the attitudes are in any given place. And I’ve... I’ve gotten used to being… um... being two, er, two mes? I guess. That’s why...”

Newt waves one arm, already in a sleeve, absently at the gown in Queenie’s hands while trying to find the other sleeve, which keeps eluding him because he keeps moving. Queenie turns to the closet to put the gown away with a fond smile.

“Watch- “ Jacob starts, but doesn’t need to finish. He grabs Newt’s shoulder to steady him and helps Newt get his arm into the pajama sleeve.

Once the shirt is settled he starts buttoning it closed.

Newts stands very still, head down, watching them from under his mop of hair. He adds softly, “It’s not the most comfortable way to be all the time, but, uh, well... being Newt works better for my profession.”

“You know, you could always have a wardrobe with us, if you wanted,” Queenie says over her shoulder, trying to keep her tone light. She knows Jacob won’t mind the offer, and ‘not the most comfortable’ is an understatement if Newts thoughts have ever betrayed him.

“Sorry?” Newt asks, almost choking on surprise.

Queenie goes to her vanity and opens her cold cream jar in a spray of gold sparkles. “A wardrobe of whatever you like- a nightgown, day dress, fancy dress. You could have a wardrobe here,” she says, “with us.”

Newts thoughts tumble, but none of it feels bad- mostly just incredulous. She gets the sense that he’s warring with himself because he _knows_ it’s a genuine offer but is afraid to let himself believe. He’s spent so many years forcing himself to be _two_ , as he said, that she gets the feeling he’s almost afraid to let himself be.

“You can’t slip with us, you know,” Queenie says. She dips a rag into the cream and stands next to Jacob so she can smooth it across Newt’s face. “And I just know Teens would be okay. She might even like it herself.”

Jacob finishes buttoning Newt’s pajama top and straightens it. “With her I’m less prepared to share,” he murmurs.

Newt goes scarlet. Queenie smiles her amusement. She wasn’t prepared to share Newt with Tina either. When she has Newt’s face is sufficiently smeared with cold cream, Queenie taps a fingertip on either side of his face, right by his eyes.

“Close.”

Newt closes his eyes obediently and Queenie allows herself to feel a brief moment of pride- it’s rare for Newt to allow himself to be unguarded at all. His jumbled thoughts slowly steady into a sense of _safe_ and _happy_. She can feel the hurt of reliving his memories starting to fade. They’re not gone- they’ll never be gone- but she can believe that maybe she and Jacob are helping. 

“Jacob, honey, turn down the bed?” she asks softly.

Jacob nods and sneaks a kiss from her, “Sure.”

Queenie moves her finger over the tips of the false lashes Newt is wearing, dissolving the glue with magic used so often she doesn't need a spell for it. The eyelashes put themselves back in their box, clean and waiting for their next use.

“You’ll be done in just a sec,” she tells him, “Keep ‘em closed. Don’t want cream in your eyes.”

Newt nods. Jacob is getting changed from his suit, hanging the vest and jacket neatly, rolling up his shirtsleeves to get comfortable. Since Mrs. Esposito is prone to random spot checks, Jacob doesn’t keep any of his things in their apartment.

Queenie rubs her makeup rag over Newt’s cheeks and lips, removing blush and lipstick and the leftover cold cream. She dips the cloth wrapped around her fingertip back into the cream and dabs it over his still-closed eyes to clear his lids of eyeshadow and any mascara clinging to his lashes.

“All right,” she murmurs, “You can open.”

“Do I pass inspection, mum?” Newt asks.

“You’ll do, honey,” Queenie laughs. She sits at her vanity to begin work on removing her own face.

Jacob has stretched himself out over Queenie’s bed, propped up on her headboard when Newt turns towards him, running his fingers through his hair. The movement is somewhat nervous, but his face registers confusion and then realization. Jacob grins to himself. Trust Newt to forget that his own hair is styled for a night out.

“... Newt?” he asks, more confirming than trying to get Newt’s attention.

“Yes,” Newt answers.

Smiling, perhaps a bit embarrassed, Newt runs his fingers through his hair several times and it shrinks away, back into the curly mop with the fringe in his pale eyes like Jacob is used to.

“The things you guys can do… I wanna be a wizard,” he says.

Newt grins, combing out his fringe. “I’ll do your hair next time. No promises that it’ll look any good though.”

Jacob pats the bed beside him. “Well. C’mere and lay down. You stand the whole time Queenie is getting herself ready for bed and you won’t feel your feet by the end of it.”

“Oy,” Queenie laughs. She flicks her fingers and Jacob’s hair tweaks itself completely out of his hair gel’s tenuous hold.

Jacob gives a skwak in spite of himself. “Hey now! I worked hard on my hair tonight!”

“You’d hardly notice,” Queenie says sweetly, smiling mischievously at Jacob in her vanity mirror.

Newt ducks his head to hide his smile as he takes a seat on the bed next to Jacob. He keeps himself propped upright with his hands behind him- they’re close enough that his fingertips nearly touch Jacob’s leg. Impulsively Jacob places his palm over the back of Newt’s hand. He feels Newt startle, but then Newt doesn’t do much more than cast a questioning look over his shoulder. Jacob ignores it. He circles his fingers around Newt’s wrist instead- and marvels that he can nearly touch his thumb and index finger together.

“You have tiny wrists.”

“Mother used to say I ate like a bird,” Newt says agreeably.

“You need meat on your bones,” Jacob decides, “I’m going to have to send you food packages when you head off again.”

He pulls the wrist in his grasp out from under Newt, albeit carefully. Newt goes along with it and allows gravity to drop him onto Jacob’s chest. It’s not the most comfortable of positions - Newt’s head and half of his back winds up across Jacob’s stomach and his shoulder digs into Jacob’s chest. Even so they watch each other in silence for a moment. Then Jacob reaches out to brush the curly fringe back from Newt’s forehead, and Newt’s eyes flutter closed. He wiggles to resettle himself, which has the benefit of taking his shoulder away from digging into Jacob’s lung. His legs drape over the side of the bed. Jacob cups Newt’s cheek and brushes his thumb over his skin.

“Well I see you two are looking quite comfortable,” Queenie says. She’s standing over them, hands on hips. An amused smile plays over her lips. “You gonna make room for me on my own bed?”

Newt quirks that tiny smile when he’s about to do something unexpected that may or may not mean a swooping evil thrown in someone’s face. Unfortunately all Queenie can pick up is _unexpected._

In one quick motion Newt wraps his legs around the backs of Queenie’s, locking his ankles just at her knees and tugging. It’s just fast enough and there’s just enough force behind it that Queenie is knocked off balance. She tumbles forward onto Newt, who wraps his arms around her waist.

“How’s that?” he asks, “Enough room?”

“You- you- ” she sputters, laughing, propping herself up on her elbows on either side of Newt’s arms. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been told,” Newt agrees. He trails his fingers up her back, relishing the feeling of her silk robe under his fingertips, and rests them just between her shoulder blades.

Queenie goes silent, slowly, watching Newt’s lips, the way he darts his tongue out to wet them. She glances up at Jacob. Jacob’s eyes glitter and his lips are quirked in a tiny smile. She catches him thinking that he’s glad Tina is still working, and that makes her startle. With her luck Tina will be waiting just outside the door. The rest of the apartment is empty. Queenie breathes a sigh of relief and she waves her hand at the bedroom door. It slides shut and locks. Tina will just have to sleep outside tonight.

“As nice as this is,” Newt starts, softly, as if hesitant to intrude on their moment, “I, ah, I can’t quite feel my legs.”

Queenie and Jacob laugh. Queenie rolls off of Newt and sits at the head of the bed, tucking her legs under herself. Newt pushes himself so he’s upright and mirrors her position. He takes in the bed, noting how narrow it is. Three of them can’t possibly fit in it, not without someone falling out, and he can’t be the one to intrude...

“Don’t you even,” Queenie warns, poking Newt’s nose with her finger. “We’ll enlarge it. No problem.”

Newt looks up at her, hopeful but still unwilling to come out and ask for what he wants. “Yeah?”

Queenie puts her hand over Newt’s. “Come here.”

Newt scoots up the bed and, chewing on his lip, wiggles himself between Queenie and Jacob. Queenie traces her wand around the shape of the bed. It enlarges itself underneath them, though Newt has no doubt that someone looking into the bedroom wouldn’t notice a change in the size. There’s enough room for all three of them to lay down comfortably but it’s not so large that there can really be much space left between their bodies.

Queenie lays down and pats the bed beside her expectantly. Slowly, Newt lays down and curls himself around her side. Her hand finds its way into her hair. There’s a small part of him that still expects to be kicked out at any second, but Jacob spooning up behind him sends that expectation crashing to the ground. Jacob wrapping his arm around Newt’s waist squashes the expectation underfoot. He gives a soft sigh and allows himself to relax into the warmth provided by their bodies.

As soon as he does relax, sleepiness rushes up to him all at once and his eyes grow heavy. Newt makes a soft noise and tries to force his eyelids open again. He doesn’t want to sleep, not really, he needs to give Queenie and Jacob more time, make sure they don’t go away-

“Sleep, honey,” Queenie murmurs, “We’re not going anywhere. Promise. We’ll talk more in the morning. We have all the time we need.”

“Be here?” Newt asks sleepily.

“Of course we will,” Jacob says. He nuzzles against Newt’s nape. “Go to sleep.”

Newt nods once, pushing his face into Queenie’s soothing scent, and closes his eyes. They’ll be there in the morning.


End file.
